


Shadowplay

by oppressa



Category: Mirrormask (2005)
Genre: Dream Sex, F/M, Porn Battle, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-01
Updated: 2011-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:59:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oppressa/pseuds/oppressa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He won't betray her again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadowplay

**Author's Note:**

> For the Porn Battle XI prompt, 'darkness'.

At first, she's almost reluctant to get close to him, unless he does something out of character and she realizes she's wrong. She can't be, though. She looks at him and sees a nobody, a loner filled with false confidence. Someone who brushed against different types of life without really living them, but picked up all sorts of rubbish skills along the way. Everything fits into place when they're together and she feels so easy with him, so free. She can tell it puts him off, like when their eyes meet while they're juggling and he drops the ball. But she doesn't know if he feels anything deeper, or has any recollection of their experiences in her dream.

He knocks on the door of her caravan one night, three weeks after he joins, and slips in without an invitation.

“This is weird.” He says flatly, standing in the shadow at the edge of her bed. She was only sitting there drawing, trying to transfer the dream creatures from her imagination to the paper before bedtime, but she still pushes her pencils away like she's embarrassed. “Does this feel weird to you, Helena?”

She nods, something she would never have admitted to before, and she thinks it makes her stronger.

“I know you,” he stutters, amazed. “I'm sure I _know_ you.”

“Yeah,” she says, “it's okay though. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want.”

She stretches out her arms for him and pulls him in. Covers his eyes with her hands and grinds their hips together. He doesn't ask what she's doing, and the only conclusion she can draw from it is that this feels right to him, as well. He kneels at her feet and gently pushes her legs apart, opening the folds of her night dress so he can rub his nose along her thighs, before he presses his tongue against her already sweat-streaked skin. She places her hands on his shoulders and leans down so she can brush her cheek against his hair.

“Yes.” She murmurs. “Keep going. That feels so good.”

Afterwards, they lie there together and he tells her he worked a whole bunch of odd jobs, all of them shitty, before this one. Smiles wryly when she tells him, “You were wasted, there.” They fall asleep facing each other, his thin fingers curled around the back of her neck, her own hands fisted in his threadbare t-shirt.

She dreams of Valentine that night, of him watching her from across a silver bridge, jealousy painted plain on his shifting face. He always excited her, something about the way he was artful and careless at the same time. But she can tell he's not trying to slip out of this one, that he's actually going to be honest with her for once.

“What are you doing with him, Helena?” He asks. “Dancing around with that useless excuse for a circus performer. I hope you've not forgotten the main reason you were able to get back to your pokey little world in the first place.”

She gets angry at that, at how he's trying to undermine her happiness. She misses him so much sometimes it aches. But he can't appear in her dreams so infrequently that he might as well not bother, and still expect her to spend all her waking hours in mourning at the loss.

“Oh, yeah.” She retorts, “obviously. Because you're plainly the shining example of faithfulness.”

He crosses towards her, and she stands her ground, certain that she's not going to compromise this time. She waits until he's standing right in front of her to look up and notice the mist that has wrapped itself around them. He mutters something about showing her what he can do, and when their lips touch, she knows this is his way of saying he won't betray her again. She holds herself so close to him she can hear every breath he takes, and by the time he's inside her she's resting her head on his shoulder, pushing back into him with all she's got. It feels so perfect while it lasts, so sweet, and her hips are still shuddering when she wakes up in the middle of it. The mist dissipates to nothingness in front of her eyes.

For a moment, she feels so cheated, and wonders whether he orchestrated that on purpose. But then she rolls over, gritting her teeth, and sees the piece of the picture she's missing. She realizes he was showing her a choice, or at least, telling her she didn't actually have to choose either of them. Especially not if they really are just opposite halves of the same whole. She moves closer to his still-sleeping self. His mirror image. Crawls over and slowly rubs the rest of her orgasm off against his hipbone. He stirs and gives her his trickster smile, reaching down to clutch their fingers together until she finishes, panting hard into the darkness. She's not sure this qualifies as keeping things simple, but equally, she doesn't think that's so important, anymore.


End file.
